


sunstruck

by sunstuff



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Crushes, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:34:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23556889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunstuff/pseuds/sunstuff
Summary: Strength number thirteen:Akaashi made everything better. The doubt and frustration that had placed Bokuto on the bench to begin with was already long-forgotten.And while Akaashi may have counted his weaknesses, Bokuto would forever count his strengths. Bokuto had only ever found ten weaknesses of the setter; he’d counted ten times as many of the latter.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji & Bokuto Koutarou, Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 7
Kudos: 124





	sunstruck

**Author's Note:**

> in which bokuto is painfully in love with his best friend (thankfully, the feeling is mutual)

_Weakness number six:_

Akaashi bit his nails. 

Before every match, every potentially grade-snapping exam, every rare moment of public speaking, Akaashi quietly bit his nails. It was a subtle action; a glance to the side as he brought his fingers to his lips, before dropping his hand only a few seconds after. Everything he did, he did with grace, and he took great care to never gather attention to these telltale habits. Akaashi was composed and proud - _not_ a nailbiter. 

Bokuto knew better, he thought, watching him on the court. There, the setter had started to lift his hand, waiting in what was surely pure anxiety and searching for any scrap of stability as the opposing team geared up for their serve. But once more, he allowed his arm to go slack with the smallest shake of his head. 

_Strength number twenty-three:_

Akaashi’s self-control was unmatched. 

And when the ball flew over the net and floated between their teammates, Akaashi was more than ready to do his part - just like always. The volley was theirs. Akaashi did not allow himself to celebrate or relax. Over and over, they defended, attacked, lost points and scored twice as many. He was dignified, watching their opponents with an undoubtedly piercing analysis and constantly refining and fortifying the strategy. 

If Akaashi was awestruck watching Bokuto, then Bokuto was starstruck, sunstruck, moonstruck. From the bench, he had eyes only for his setter, his vice-captain, his best friend. Wonder inspired a skip in his heartbeat; wonder stole his breath away, and for the briefest while (damn that briefness), time froze. Akaashi was never more beautiful than in moments like these, he knew, and he had seen Akaashi in oh-so many moments of beauty. Sweat-kissed and invigorated by the challenge, he shone so much brighter than Bokuto ever could. The captain would have it no other way. Nekoma could have their beating heart; Fukorodani had the _sun_ to circle. _Bokuto_ had the sun in his grasp (or, almost.) But to the cheering spectators, the team worked as a well-oiled machine with or without their meltdown-surfing ace, with or without their setter. They could not see Akaashi for all his glow, and it made his chest ache. The greatest player among them was already on the court; wasn’t it obvious?

The set was over. One was left. Akaashi was in front of him before he could pull himself from his daydreaming, hand extended (nails unbitten yet) and smiling softly. 

“Are you ready, Bokuto-san?”

Bokuto could only pray the heat he felt rising to his cheeks wasn’t as obvious to the others as it was to him. He only managed to blink dumbly at first. That telltale grin was soon to follow. He clapped his own hand to his and held it tightly, hauling himself to restless feet. Bokuto didn’t mind being benched, in moments like these. If only for a few minutes, he got to watch his friend in all his quiet, shining glory. Now, he was ready to play at his side once more. 

“Heeeey, hey, HEY, _let’s do it!”_

_Strength number thirteen:_

Akaashi made everything better. The doubt and frustration that had placed Bokuto on the bench to begin with was already long-forgotten. 

While Akaashi may have counted his weaknesses, Bokuto would forever count his strengths. Bokuto had only ever found ten weaknesses of the setter; he’d counted ten times as many of the latter. 

\---

_Strength number sixty-seven:_

Akaashi made his heart pound in his chest. 

_Bokuto’s self-recorded weakness number… Well, he had lost count long ago:_

Akaashi made his heart pound in his chest. 

Bokuto sat beside him on the bus, and he was careful not to let his leg wander too far and brush against his friend’s. He couldn’t handle the fireworks that were set alight all over his skin the moment they touched; sitting so close alone was enough to steal the breath from his chest. Every day, it was harder to find the air to speak in this boy’s, no, this _miracle’s_ presence. It was different than standing on the court, where he was distracted, buzzing with energy and excitement. Here, there was nothing and no one that could hope to steal his attention away from Akaashi Keiji. Their surrounding teammates dismissed his silence for just another bout of gloominess. It was anything but. 

Akaashi was never more beautiful than in moments like these, he knew, and he had seen Akaashi in oh-so many moments of beauty. Sitting there with tree-filtered light flickering on his face through the window, Akaashi was bathed in a glow that paled in comparison to his own. His eyes were tired and distant, fixed on something Bokuto could not see. What was he thinking about, he wondered as he watched him at the edges of his vision. What could he be thinking about to make his brow wrinkle just barely like that, to pull his lips into that thoughtful pout? 

Just as Bokuto opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, the bus came to a jarring stop. Their teammates stood and bumped past, loud voices still audible from the sidewalk. Bokuto would have run after them, usually, his booming laughter overpowering the rest. He would have taken Akaashi’s hand and pulled him along, usually. But for a moment, the pair merely sat in the vacant hush of the bus: Akaashi’s gaze still fixed on the window, and Bokuto’s on him. 

Bokuto hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until he finally mustered the courage (since when had he needed courage to talk to his best friend?) to reach for the setter’s sleeve and give it the gentlest tug. 

“Let’s go home, ‘Kaashi,” he murmured. Bokuto rarely murmured. Still, Akaashi was startled, try as he did to compose himself. In equal softness, he apologized, stood, and led the way down the stairs. 

\---

Bokuto wasn’t sure how to classify the fact rattling in his painful chest. Strength or weakness? Truthfully, he had lost count of the strengths. Akaashi always was better with numbers. 

_Unclassified statement, unlisted number:_

Akaashi held Bokuto’s undying love in the palm of his hand, even if he did not know it. 

They walked quietly side by side down that fateful sidewalk. The silence was not awkward or frightening, but highly unusual. Bokuto typically bursted at the seams with stories and jokes, and Akaashi responded in kind with his tender encouragement and merciful pity-chuckles (though some were earnest, Bokuto suspected.) Currently, he was too preoccupied by the butterflies threatening to conquer his stomach to talk. One could fly out of his mouth at any given second, he was _certain._ He opted to ponder. 

Bokuto was not a smart boy. Bokuto did not understand long math, or Shakespeare, or scientific data. Bokuto did not _care_ to understand these things. But for just a while, he wished so desperately that he was a little sharper; he wished he knew what that depth in Akaashi’s eyes meant. He wished he knew how a person could look so sad, so lost, so frustrated all at the same time. Could he have done something wrong? Could he have hurt his feelings? Bokuto picked apart his day and struggled to remember everything he did, everything he said, every time he could have messed up. His heart beat a little faster. 

His dilemma began to spiral. _Was_ his love a weakness for Akaashi? Bokuto knew he was a handful. He knew his constant rollercoaster of emotions was frustrating to everyone around. He knew it wasn’t fair that others had to jump in to boost him up when he really should be capable of standing on his own. He knew he was clingy. He knew he talked too loud, laughed too loud, chewed too loud, walked too loud, did _everything_ with more enthusiasm than anything needed. 

His steps dragged a little heavier. His shoulders sagged just barely. Unlike Akaashi Keiji, Bokuto was an open book whether he knew it or not. 

Was it okay to love someone like Akaashi when he was this way? And truly, Bokuto loved Akaashi wholly and earnestly. Though he could not see or know it, his love for his best friend was his own greatest strength. Nothing pushed him harder, made him smile brighter, inspired him to be the star that Akaashi quietly regarded him as. 

The sensation of dancing fireworks and lightning roused him from his sorrows. Akaashi had taken his hand (nails bitten) and was holding it tightly. The setter’s head found the captain’s shoulder. 

_Strength number thirteen:_

Akaashi made everything better.


End file.
